


To Be A Morbid Muse

by LittleMissEightySixed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, F/M, Halloween, Obsession, dramione - Freeform, paint fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 10:01:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16473431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissEightySixed/pseuds/LittleMissEightySixed
Summary: Written for Strictly Dramione's Halloween Fest! I hope you all enjoy. xx





	To Be A Morbid Muse

**Author's Note:**

> I do plan on adding more to this one shot (the explicit scenes mainly and flushing it out more) I just ran out of time as I am currently a full time college student getting ready to transfer soon. Thank you for being patient with me, while I know this isnt my best work I still had alot of fun with this piece. Thank you again and love to you all. xx

**A Morbid Muse**

 

It had all started with a conversation, or rather a misunderstanding on  _ his _ part and his part alone. Though the man in question would most definitely disagree. He would claim that it was fate, the universe aligning the cosmos just  _ so  _ for them to have this cataclysmic encounter that would unknowingly lead them to the situation they were currently in. A situation that found Hermione Granger both in shock and excitement. 

 

If she was being honest with herself, she was more annoyed at the fact she didn’t know who he was prior to their meeting rather than anything else. Afterall a man as prominent as he supposedly was should have been talked about more, surely? Perhaps in passing, a moment she had decided to read, drink tea, daydream, or the most unlikely of all, a thought that she couldn’t help but gasp at. Perhaps she had just been  _ minding her business _ . What a strange thought! He was talked about in circles she never found herself within she reasoned, and for that, deep down, she found herself resentful, if only slightly.

 

The night was young, All Hallow’s Eve festivities lined the streets of Hogsmeade and The Three Broomsticks was filled to the brim with witches and wizards alike. The amount of people packed into the small space left Hermione with an uneasy feeling. Anxiety sitting low in her stomach. 

 

“Hermione!” A voice called from across the room. 

 

Scanning the dimly lit area, her eyes fell upon a familiar ginger waving her over.

Placing her charmed bag down on the table’s surface, Hermione unbuttoned her robes before taking a seat beside Ginny. “Why are there so many people here? Is something happening tonight?” Hermione questioned. “Besides the obvious of course.” 

 

“The Great Artifex is supposed to make an appearance tonight, isn’t that exciting?” Luna beamed. “He hasn’t been seen out in public for nearly three years.”

 

“The Great  _ Who?”  _ Hermione inquired, the unfamiliar name striking something within her.  

  
  


Coughing and spluttering after taking a sip of her drink, Ginny spat, “What do you mean you’ve never heard of him? Are you mad?  _ Everyone _ knows who he is!”The sudden outburst causing a trail of butterbeer running down her chin. 

 

Rolling her eyes at the mess Hermione withdrew her wand, pointing it at Ginny’s chin. “ _ Scourgify _ .” The liquid on her chin vanished in an instant. “Am I mad? If anyone is mad here its  _ you _ ! Now was that really necessary, Gin?” 

 

Shrugging in response Ginny swirled her finger around the rim of the mug shaking her head back and forth playfully. “I’m sorry, it’s just strange Hermione. I mean, something that we know and  _ you  _ don’t? That almost seems blasphemous.!” 

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I am sure there are plenty of things that you two are privy to that I am not.”

 

“Mmm,” Ginny mused. “Like what?” 

 

A look of shock adorned Hermione’s face. Turning her head slightly she coughed uneasily into her hand, fidgeting ever so slightly. “Oh well… you know,” she motioned with hands grasping at invisible words. 

“I’m waiting.” 

 

“Oh, I don’t know! Quidditch perhaps?” Hermione exasperated. 

 

“He-” Ginny protested before stopping herself. Looking to the smiling blonde on her right, she sighed. “You got me there, I have to give you that. You were absolute rubbish at flying, I can’t imagine how you would be out in the field.” 

 

“I am sure there is someone else here that doesn’t know who he is, it can’t only be me, that is statistically impossible, or nearly.”

 

“Trust me, you are the only one.” 

 

Glaring at the two witches in front of her, she took a moment to look around the room.  _ Truly  _ look around. The room buzzed with an excited energy that was impossible to ignore, witches and wizards of all ages were all gathered for seemingly the same thing. This  _ Artifex  _ being. 

“Do you know anything about him?” 

 

“I know that he is rich, talented, and famous throughout the wizarding community. What else is there to know?” 

 

Hermione stared at her in silence, shocked at what her friend had just admitted. 

 

“I know that look,” Ginny groaned. “Say what you have to say before you implode.”

 

“Oh Ginny, this is ridiculous! Do you even hear yourself? You came to an establishment in hopes of seeing some man, some  _ artist _ , that you don’t even know what his name is or what he looks like?” Hermione snapped. 

 

“Oh come on, don’t you see even a little fun in the mystery?” Ginny retorted. 

 

“No, I can’t say I do.” 

 

“I can’t say i’m surprised,” the redheaded witch laughed. 

 

Groaning in annoyance, Hermione stood, swiping her bag off the table as she turned away from them. “You two can stay here and wait for the phantom artist, if you need me I will be at my own humble abo–—” Before she could finish her sentence, she felt her elbow connect with a cool glass followed by the sound of a shattering mug. 

 

Dropping her bag to the floor, Hermione gasped, looking down at the pieces of broken glass that littered the ground they stood on. 

 

Just as she was about to say something a deep, sultry voice asked, 

 

“Are you alright?” 

A sound that was neither here nor there but familiar all the same. 

“I-I apologize,” Hermione stuttered, quickly retrieving her wand from her pocket to reassemble the broken cup. “I wasn’t looking where I was going and that was entirely—” Hermione’s breath caught as she turned her eyes upward. There, looking down at her, was a white venetian plague mask. The long, thick beak protruded far past the mans face, his grey eyes looking at her curiously. “—On me.” She squeaked. 

 

The large eye holes caused her heart to beat faster, the historical mask, while terrifying in its own right gave her heart palpitations; she couldn’t help but be intrigued by who might be under the mask. 

 

Hermione watched as long legs in dark trousers crouched down to pick up her bag, carefully handing it to her without touching. 

 

“I believe this belongs to you.” Gloved hands stretched out to hand back her belongings, nodding once when she didn’t take it immediately.  

 

Nodding back in understanding, she gratefully took the bag from him. “Thank you, I am so sorry again. If there's anyt―”

 

“Anything you can do?” he asked, a hint of a smile in his voice as he looked around the room that had now fallen silent. 

 

Ginny and Luna coughed beside her mumbling,  _ cough  _ “Respond.”  _ cough _ .

Shaking herself out of a trance she turned back to the masked man. “Yes,” Hermione spoke, barely above a whisper. “If there's anything I can do to make it up to you, Mr…”

 

“I have many names, though most call me Artifex. You are Ms. Granger of course, brightest witch of our age.”   

_ Silence _ . 

 

Even a word collector like herself was left speechless. 

 

“I do have something you could help me with, an art piece I have had in mind for a long while now.” Bending his body down towards her to meet her height, he pulled a curl from her bun to allow it to frame her face. “If you would be willing and able to help me Ms. Granger.”  

 

Ginny stood, scraping the feet of her stool against the floor and gripping Hermione’s arm as she hissed into her ear, “You  _ must  _ say yes! When are you or  _ anyone _ for that matter going to get a chance to work with someone like him?” 

 

Shrugging Ginny’s arm away she wanted to turn back and tell her that she didn’t  _ have  _ to do anything. She was a woman in her own right and this  _ Artifex  _ was just another man. No more and no less than she. Deep down though, she knew Ginny was right. She  _ wanted _ to do this. 

 

“What do you say? Will you be my muse this Hallow’s Eve, Ms. Granger?” 

 

_ That voice again _ . 

 

If her mind hadn’t already been made up the looks of the patrons would have sealed her fate. Gawks and jealous stares were directed her way, something that would normally be an  uncomfortable feeling was now a source of strength. 

 

“Yes,” she proclaimed. “I think I just might.” 

 

What little of his mouth she could see was turned up into a simper. 

 

“Wonderful,” He clapped his hands and nodded towards the door. “Shall we then?” 

 

“We shall.” 

 

Artifex stuck his hands in his waistcoat pocket before slipping out the doors of The Three Broomsticks, Hermione trailing close behind him. 

 

***************************************************************

 

The two of them walked down the stone streets in silence, the only sounds were that of their breathing and far off echoes of a couples inaudible conversation. 

 

The silence soon became deafening to Hermione, in effort to make light conversation she asked the one thing she had been thinking about since he had first spoken to her. 

 

_ What is underneath the mask? _

 

“Mr. Artifex,” Hermione cleared her throat, “I love mystery as much as the next witch, but will your plague mask be a constant companion this evening?” 

 

At first she thought he hadn’t heard her when he didn’t respond, but as their walk continued she had a sneaking suspicion that he had just decided it wasn’t worth responding to. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione apologized. “I meant no offense. I am just a very…” she stopped and contemplated how she should word it. “Visual person is all.” 

 

It was then he had stopped, so abruptly that she nearly ran straight into his backside. 

 

“No need to be sorry, Ms. Granger.” His hands were clasped behind his back as he struggled with what to say next. “I... think it is best if I keep the mask on. For your sake.” His breath hitched ever so slightly before sadly adding, “I think you would prefer me this way, instead of seeing the man underneath.” 

 

The melancholy that dripped from his voice caused her pain, she didn’t know this man but it was as if she had somehow. Perhaps in a dream? She wasn’t sure. 

 

Trying again at casual conversation she asked the next question that came to mind. 

 

“You aren’t apparating?” 

 

This amused him. “Oh, forgive me.” Artifex stopped in the middle of the pavement turning towards her with a look of mock concern. “I wasn’t aware you wished to be  _ physically _ close to me.” He winked. 

 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” 

 

“Flattery? From you? I would never assume as much.”

 

“From me?” She interjected. “Do you know me?” 

  
“You are too easy, Hermione.” he murmured. 

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Everyone knows you,” He retorted. “Brightest witch of our age and all, I’m sure you remember.” 

 

“No, not that now. You just called me  _ easy _ .”

 

“Easy to rile up, witch. Not in a slag sense.” He smirked. “Unless you are claiming you have promiscuous tendencies?” 

 

“You  _ vile _ ,  _ degradin _ -!”Hermione fumed before she was cut off by the man’s  hand gesture. 

“Careful there darling,” He looked down towards her, meeting her eyes once again. “Insults are my foreplay of choice.” Before she could answer he continued, “The reason we aren’t apparating is because the place we are headed is just around the corner, you see.”

 

Hermione felt her cheeks sting with embarrassment at her mistake. She continued to trail behind him in silence, not wishing to dig herself deeper into what already felt like a chasm. 

 

A few moments later and Hermione found herself at the front of an unlit manor, how she had come to be from the street to the porch she had no idea. She watched on as the man waved his hand and the manor doors opened, candles igniting as soon as they stepped in. 

 

Artifex motioned to the grand staircase directly ahead, “The stairs will take us to the parlor, are you ready to begin?” 

 

Hermione simply nodded. Walking up to the staircase she felt a vibration of magic in the air. 

_ One foot in front of the other  _ she told herself. 

 

As soon as her foot hit the first step of the stairs she felt a rushing wind around her, within seconds she found herself in another room, one she could only assume was the branch off of the parlour. 

 

He appeared right behind her, walking ahead straight into the next room.

 

“You haven’t told me yet what it is you want.” Hermione spoke freely. “Does this favour entail magic and or being put into a situation where I will possibly have to maim you?”

 

“Magic?” He asked. “No. Not for this favour. Being put into a situation where you might cause me physical and perhaps even emotional harm? Well know that takes all the fun out of it doesn’t it, Granger?” 

 

That was his mistake. 

 

_ Granger.  _

 

**_Granger..._ **

 

_ No, no, no, no. It  _ **_can’t_ ** _.  _

 

Stopping at the entrance to his parlour, she could contain herself, she hissed, “When did you plan on telling me?” 

 

Freezing, the masked man spun back around towards her. “Tell you what, Ms. Granger?” 

 

“Cut the Ms. Granger nonsense,  _ Malfoy _ .” 

 

His outside demeanor was calm, for the most part. His shaking hand at his side however showed what turmoil lay underneath. 

 

“Hermione,” Draco started. 

 

“Was this planned?” 

 

“No,” His voice boomed, echoing off the parlor walls. “It wasn’t, I swear it.” 

 

“You expect me to take you at your word? After everything?” 

 

Sighing, he took a seat in a plush chair, unfastening the mask he had been wearing the entire evening. 

 

Long blond locks fell around his forehead, his grey eyes boring into her as they did earlier. He looked tired, exhausted even. There were stress lines on his face and light bags under his eyes. Despite this, Hermione thought it strange that in the years since she had last seen him, he didn’t look to have aged. While none of her old classmates looked old by any means, they all showed signs of some change, some  _ growth _ . Draco however, had stayed the same. 

 

“I’ve changed, Hermione. Time hasn’t been kind and I have paid for what I have done in the past and will continue to do so for the rest of my life.” His voice struggled to remain neutral. “I am  _ not  _ who I was in Hogwarts, nor will I ever be again. If you give me a chance…” his voice cracked at that. “I promise I will show you.”

 

The animosity she had felt mere seconds ago seemed to melt away, instead replaced by something else. This was completely out of character for her, she wasn’t one to just fall idly to a man's knees, but part of her so desperately wanted to believe what he was telling her, so she made a decision. 

 

Tonight, she was going to fulfill this favour and see where it goes. She would not continue to sabotage herself with this like she had with so many other opportunities before. Whatever happens tonight, she would take it in stride. 

 

_ She was ready. _

 

Meeting Draco’s gaze, she squared her shoulders and took the plunge. Walking up to him, she took a seat on the stool next to the plush seat and quietly said, “Show me.” 

 

Draco couldn’t help but stare at her bewildered, “Are you sure?” He asked. 

 

She nodded. 

 

Breathing a sigh of relief Draco continued, “If you don’t want to be the muse, it isn’t required. My methods may be a bit…” he averted his eyes, “unorthodox to some.” 

 

“Show me.” Hermione demanded. “I understand, Malfoy. I am willing to give… whatever this is a shot. Regardless how extreme the circumstances may be.”

 

Running his fingers through his hair he was struggling with an internalized debate. 

_ Should I? Or Shouldn’t I?  _

 

He had made up his mind. 

 

“Wait here,” he grabbed the mask and hastily headed for the door. Poking his head back into the room before making his exit he mumbled just loud enough for her to hear, “please.” 

 

That shocked her, completely. What shocked her more? 

 

She had smiled. 

**************************************************************************

 

After what felt like eons, Draco had finally returned. A wooden box floated above him, swaying with each step he took. A large piece of fabric lay in his arms, twice wrapped around each knuckle as if he was afraid of dropping it. 

 

“What is that?” She asked, eyeing the sheet lookalike. 

“This?” Draco grinned, looking down towards the fabric and back up to her. 

 

“No, your shirt that I am sure is no less than a million galleons,” Hermione responded sarcastically. 

 

“Tsk, tsk…” Draco clicked his tongue. “I will have you know it wasn’t anywhere near a million. A few thousand? Perhaps.” He let out a throaty laugh. 

 

“You still didn’t answer my question, Malfoy.” 

 

“Ah yes, your question.” Pulling the edges of the fabric back, Draco unfolded the large piece and laid it on the floor between them. “This is a canvas sheet,  _ this _ is the favour that you have agreed to help me with.” 

 

“Canvas? You want me to help you with a piece?” She eyed him suspiciously. 

 

“Help is a relative term,” he remarked. “You won’t be helping me with the piece, Granger. You  _ are  _ the piece.”

 

“I’m sorry?” Hermione contended. “I don’t believe I am following.” 

 

“My art, my  _ work _ ,” Draco enunciated, “deals with the male and female form.” Taking a step towards her, he watched for a reaction. 

 

The sounds of his dragonskin boots against the floor made Hermione internally flinch. She felt like prey as he eyed her, circling around her waiting for her to make a move. 

 

_ Why was she staying?  _ She wondered, but  **not really** . 

 

_ She was curious. _

 

“I find that women make the best subjects, especially ones that are more complex beings.”

 

“Is that your idea of a polite way of telling a lady she is difficult?” 

 

“On the contrary,” Leaning in, Draco wrapped a chocolate tendril around his finger, pushing it away from her face before whispering into her ear, “that is my way of telling a woman she is different, in all of the  _ best  _ ways.”   

 

The shock written on her face told him everything he needed to know.  

 

_ She wanted it. _

 

“So what exactly does your method entail,  _ Draco? _ ”

 

Biting his lip to suppress his smile, he shrugged. “It’s simple. I lay this canvas down and you allow me to paint on you.  _ Nude _ .” 

 

“Obviously, I wouldn’t assume you would paint overtop of my clothes.” 

 

“Forgive me, I forget how smart you are sometimes.”

 

“It happens.” 

 

“So,” Draco removed his waistcoat, hanging it on the back of the chair. “Shall we begin?” 

 

The act of watching Draco roll up the cuffs on his shirt as she stripped away her clothing oddly seemed  _ natural _ to her. The inhibitions she felt she might feel were null to none. The truth was, she was comfortable being this exposed in front of him. Something she had struggled with even when it had come to Ron in the past. 

 

Hermione took it upon herself to stand on top of the canvas as Draco finished setting up his multitude of brushes and paints. 

 

Conjuring a drink, he levitated it over to her, having it land gracefully in her outstretched hand. “Drink that before we begin, please.” 

 

“What is it?” she asked, sniffing at the mysterious contents. 

 

“It… helps with the process. Trust me.” 

 

In completely un-Hermione fashion, she downed the drink without a second though. 

 

Vanishing the cup, she turned back to the canvas and noticed the smears of paint that lay across the surface of it. 

 

Flicking his eyes down towards the ground, Hermione obeyed, laying directly on top of the cold paint. 

 

“I promise you will get used to it,” he flashed another smile. “Who knows, you might even enjoy it…”

 

Without consulting her about starting, he began. The stroke of his cold brush against her warm skin caused a shiver to run down her spine. Her once white collarbone was now a deep scarlet, a searing red that contrasted beautifully against her ivory skin. 

 

“How does that feel, Ms. Granger?” 

 

_ Bastard _ She thought. He knew  **_exactly_ ** how he was making her feel.

 

Stretching her body out across the smooth canvas she could feel the cloth strain against her movements. Blues and greens swirled by her hips, coating her back dimples in hues of teal. The juxtaposition of the paint’s cooling and warming effect shot tremors through her body. Paint brush fibers of varying sizes swirled across her abdomen, soon replaced by the warmth of his large hands. 

 

_ She felt euphoric _ . 

 

A completely ridiculous idea she knew, he had only touched her for a few seconds and she was a complete puddle?  _ Pathetic _ .

 

She didn’t care, regardless.

 

The smell of acrylic filled her nose as she finally allowed herself to fully give into the experience. She could no longer deny how she felt, how  _ he  _ made her feel. For the first time in years she had felt seen.  _ Actually  _ seen, not as the friend and accomplice of Harry Potter but as Hermione Granger, a strong and beautiful woman in her own right. A thought that she was becoming acutely aware of now never having before this moment. 

 

Draco took in the sight of her, sprawled out before him. Relishing the moment, he dipped his fingers in the bright oranges and pinks on his palette, coating the entirety of his fingers. 

 

“Close your eyes,” his voice came out in a hoarse whisper. 

 

Flicking her eyes up towards his, she gave him a playful, sultry gaze. 

 

“Why?”

 

Growling quietly, he coated his fingers once more, giving her an equally playful, stern look. “Close. Your. Eyes. Hermione.” 

 

The newfound dominance in his demeanor excited Hermione on levels she never knew were possible. In a single night Draco Malfoy had awoken something in her that no one else had, not even herself. 

 

Obeying him, Hermione closed her eyes and lay on her back, completely still for him to work at his leisure. The anticipation was killing her, every second he wasn’t touching her seemed to drag on and on to no end. 

 

Draco however, was thoroughly enjoying himself and the torture he was putting his muse through. His fingers, still slick with the pink and orange ached to touch her. This was no longer paint brush to skin, this was immensely more sensuous. Skin to skin contact was erotic in itself, but Draco knew that with Hermione it was something so much more. 

  
  


The curve of her breast was too inviting to pass up. Licking his lips, Draco placed the tip of his index finger over her nipple and watched with fascination as the light and dark pinks intermingled atop her now hardening peaks. Thin streams of rose and fuschia flowed down the edges, leaving vine like designs on his sure to be masterpiece. 

 

Hermione squirmed at the pleasurable assault upon her body. The rush of his calloused fingers across her flesh nearly made her come undone. Squeezing her thighs together she tried her best to stay still, a feat that was becoming increasingly more difficult.

 

“Be still, Hermione,” Draco cooed. Placing his hands flush against her inner thighs he watched as the pinks and oranges swirled and combined, his hands strategically placed close enough, but  _ just  _ a tad to far for her liking. 

 

He became increasingly less graceful as it came to other parts on her body. Paint now staining his once crisp white shirt echoed the chaos of his mind at watching her unfold before him. 

 

Careful of her body, Draco gently flipped her onto her stomach. The sight of her backside making it impossible to focus completely on the task at hand. Both hands had the mixture of a lilac, a color he thought most lovely on her. Straddling her legs he pressed one of his palms into the right cheek of her ass. Not a line out of place on that one. The other palm print lay at the back of her neck, showing her just how he liked to play. 

 

This continued for hours, the orange smoke from the enchanted pumpkins filled the room in a dreamy haze. How he had managed not to take her then and there? He had no idea. He simply kept reminding himself that they had all the time in the world. 

 

By the end of it, Hermione and Draco both were covered in what only could be described as  a monet-pollock love child. The finished product? Nothing short of beautiful, an almost ethereal glow that surrounded the paint from both their bodies on the canvas. 

 

Somewhere along the way, Hermione became bold. She instigated the first kiss and she was the one who had taken it upon herself to relieve Draco of his now ruined dress shirt. Everything had fallen so perfectly into place. 

 

It was at midnight when he knew his greatest masterpiece had been finished. At the chime of the 13 clocks in his manor, he knew process had been complete. 

 

It was at midnight when Draco knew he could be whole again, something he had felt he would never feel again.

 

It was at midnight, still laying naked, covered in paint with a girl he had only dreamt of, that Draco knew he had to tell her. 

 

“Ms. Granger,” Draco spoke soothingly to her, stroking her hair as she lay her head on his chest. “There's something I  _ must  _ tell you.”

 

“It’s Ms. Granger again is it?” Hermione laughed. “I’ll play along,  _ Malfoy.  _ What is it?” Her black and blue fingers playfully played with his. “Is this your polite way of asking a lady to disappear?”

 

Chuckling, he shook his head, holding her body closer to him. “Even if you were to go, you could never  _ really _ be far, from me that is.”

 

“What do you mean?” Her voice suddenly dropped.

  
  
  


Sliding his hands underneath her legs, Draco carefully picked Hermione up, cradling her in his arms. “Look at your masterpiece, my  _ muse _ .” 

 

Setting her down, Hermione watched as the once abstract art now began to rearrange itself. It didn’t take her long to understand what was happening. 

 

“Draco…” Hermione’s voice shook. “What did you do?”

 

Spinning her back towards him, he grasped the side of her face gently with his hand, running his thumb over a patch of green on her cheek. Examining the paint that now stained his thumb, he brought it to his lips, sucking off the remnants as he watched her. 

 

“I promise to take care of you,  _ forever _ and  _ always _ ..”

 

With a flick of his wrist he banished a curtain that hung on a far wall, revealing a portrait of Draco, a portrait that looked older than the way he looked now, one that looked far more menacing than the man that stood before her.

 

“That was the old me, Hermione. Just as this was the old you.” Another flick and she found her new portrait beside his, both looking like them yet… somehow different. 

 

She didn’t know what to say, she didn’t know what to think or what to feel. 

 

What was she to do? 

 

“Happy Halloween, Hermione,” Draco loving kissed her forehead as they both looked on at their portraits, one with adoration and one with terror. 

 

“Our first of many… We have forever you know?” 

 


End file.
